Harry Potter and the Truth About Parenthood
by musicprincess1990
Summary: Harry's life changes drastically when Molly turns up with the news that Ginny is dead, and he has a daughter. Will he be able to handle the stress of being a single father? And just where IS Hermione when you need her? Please read and review!
1. Surprise

A/N: I'M BAAAAAAACK! Did you miss me? After a long separation, I have decided it's time to get back to writing! My updates won't be speedy, since I still have a month of school left, and I'm also currently in the process of searching for a new computer. But who cares! I'm writing again! YAAAAY! (cue the thunderous applause) And to celebrate, I'm starting a new story! It's all Harmony, and it'll be mostly in Harry's point of view. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I'M BACK! But I still don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Harry Potter sat in the living room of his London flat, a near-empty glass of his favorite Scotch clutched in his hand. He gazed into the fireplace as the fading embers flickered, barely filling the room with their dim glow. His mind was cloudy, but not extremely so; he'd only had one drink, and had no plans to add to that. The alcohol had been a treat of sorts, as well as an attempt to calm his mind.

It had been a year. One year, to the day, since she'd left him. No excuse, no warning... she just _left_.

According to the note he'd found on the kitchen table of his flat, she was restless. She wanted to see more, to _do_ more. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that; he had been rather stubborn in his insistence on settling down. But after seven years of living life on the edge, one of those years spent running around all of Great Britain, searching for Horcruxes, never knowing which day might be his last, he thought he'd earned the right to a nice, quiet life.

Unfortunately, to her, a "nice, quiet" life was synonymous with "boring." Harry had known that from the beginning. Ginny Weasley was a free spirit, and could not—_would _not—be contained, not even by her long-term boyfriend.

Still, he tried. He showered her with attention, bought her lavish gifts, told her how much he loved her at every possible opportunity. And for a while, he really thought it was enough. She always _seemed_ happy, and though he knew she hated to stay in one place for too long, she did... and he thought that maybe, just maybe...

But, no. She wasn't happy. She _left_. And he let her.

It wasn't that he didn't care. On the contrary, he'd spent more nights than he'd care to admit sobbing into his pillow, wishing things could have been different. He knew better, though. There was nothing he could have done to stop her. Even if he did manage to convince her to come back to him, soon she would get bored, and leave again. And no matter how many times he might bring her back, she would still be the wild, restless, amazingly independent woman she'd always been.

So, he tried to move on. He took small steps, took life without her one day at a time. Little by little, his broken heart mended. Before long, he stopped his pathetic crying. Soon after, he managed to start sleeping better. Within a few months, the sadness had left completely, replaced first by emptiness, then loneliness, and then acceptance. He realized that they wouldn't have been really happy together. They wanted different things, and would each be holding the other back from their goals. And though he loved her, he was certain it was better this way, and in the long run, they would both be happier.

Eventually, he found himself content with his life. At least, for the most part. He even started dating again. Nothing serious, but he felt proud that he'd been able to take that step. And with time, perhaps he _would_ be ready for another serious relationship, maybe even marriage. Harry didn't know what the future had in store for him, but day by day, that future seemed a little brighter.

The last of the flames died with the last hour, and the clock on the wall chimed the hour. Midnight. He smiled as he gulped down the remainder of his drink, setting the emptied glass onto the coffee table. A new day, a new start... a new life.

With a contented sigh, Harry stood, and made his way toward the bedroom, ready for a good night's sleep.

Then something grabbed his shoulder.

"Gah!" he cried out, whipping his wand out as he turned to face his attacker. That "attacker" turned out to be Molly Weasley, and he exhaled with relief. "Bloody hell, Molly, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Language, Harry," she scolded lightly, and he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Even if he wasn't really Molly's son, she was close enough to family that he didn't think she'd think twice about smacking him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Anyway, how'd you get in here?"

"Apparated," she replied shortly, then sniffed. "Have you been drinking?"

His face flushed. "I had a drink, but that's all. I promise I'm not a drunk," he added with a slight laugh.

"Hmm," Molly narrowed her eyes in disapproval, but said no more on the matter.

"So, what brings you here?" he asked, then noticed the rather large basket hanging on her arm. "What's that?"

Her eyes grew sad, and she took a breath. "Sit down, Harry." He did so, warily, and waited for her to explain. "I'm afraid I have some... some terrible news."

"What is it?"

Molly's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. "Ginny's... gone."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, 'gone'?" The sadness in her eyes magnified, and suddenly it dawned on him. His heart sank. "Y-you don't mean she's..."

"Dead," she choked out. "Almost a week ago."

"But... how?"

"Flying accident. She went out flying in a storm, and... the lightning..." Molly broke off in a fit of sobs. She carefully set the basket on the floor, and took the seat next to Harry. He wrapped his arms around his surrogate mother and did his best to comfort her, while also feeling like he might lapse into tears himself. Ginny was... _dead?_ It seemed too horrible to be true. And yet, here was her mother, bringing the news to Harry, even though he'd barely spoken to any of the Weasleys in the past year. It had been too painful.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Molly," he whispered.

She shook her head. "Oh, Harry... _I_ am the one who should be sorry."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Ginny and I have been broken up for a year. You knew that... didn't you?"

"Yes, of course, dear, but—"

A loud noise interrupted her, filling the room. Harry started, then frowned as he tried to identify the sound. It was somewhat familiar, as if he'd heard it before, but he couldn't recall where or when. He got his answer, though, when Molly jumped up and crouched down beside the basket. She lifted the cover, and reached inside...

"There, there," she cooed, drawing a small bundle close to her, and kissing it. "It's all right, sweetheart. Nana's here."

Harry watched, bewildered. A _baby?_ Why would she have brought a baby with her to see him? His confusion increased with each passing minute, but he waited patiently as Molly soothed the crying infant. When the wails ceased, the woman sighed, and returned to her seat, still holding the bundle in her arms.

"So... who's this?" Harry asked, not caring if he was being blunt.

Molly looked at him for a long moment, then said, "This... is your daughter."

Harry's insides turned to ice. "My... my..."

"Ginny came to me a few weeks after the two of you had separated," she said quietly. "She was in hysterics, couldn't seem to stop crying. But between sobs, I heard her say two words: 'pregnant,' and 'Harry.' It wasn't difficult to figure out. And eventually, when she'd calmed down, she confirmed it. She was pregnant with your child." Molly sighed. "It was hard on her, partly due to her personality—you know better than anyone how restless she gets—but also because she didn't know how to tell _you_."

He stared at her. "So she just... didn't?"

"I told her that she was being unreasonable," she sighed, "that this was something you had the right to know about. It wasn't until she actually had the baby that she agreed. But she said she wasn't ready to see you yet, so... she wrote a letter. I thought she'd sent it, but after the accident... I found it in her room, shoved to the back of a drawer in her desk, along with a second letter."

Cautiously, Molly shifted the sleeping infant, then reached into a pocket, pulling out two envelopes, both with Harry's name written on them. One was sealed and still quite clean, the second appeared to have been opened and read many times. At his questioning glance, Molly said, "I think she reread it constantly, perhaps trying to decide if she should really send it to you."

Harry took the letters, beginning with the opened one, and read:

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I hope that's not a silly question. Whatever has happened between us, I want you to be well. Anyway, to get to the point, there's something I have to tell you. A few days ago, I had a baby. A daughter. _Your_ daughter. Yes, you read that right. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you. I didn't know how, and I wasn't sure what you'd say. But you deserve to know, so I'm telling you now. I don't know what you want to do, or what happens next. I don't even know what I want, really. But you know now, and I'm open to discussing it. Maybe, if we can talk about it rationally, we can come up with some sort of plan. Please write with your reply, or just stop by the Burrow any time. I'm sure Mum would love it._

_ Sorry again,_

_ Ginny_

_P.S: I named her Lily. And she has your last name. I hope that's all right._

_P.P.S: She was born on May 2. Kind of ironic, don't you think?_

Harry's eyes stung with tears, but he forced them back as he glanced at the tiny girl. It was too dark to tell what color her hair was, but he could see that she had a lot of it. Not too surprising, considering she was now almost five months old. Lily Potter. His _daughter_.

Swallowing hard, he moved on to the second envelope, this one much larger and thicker than the first. He broke the seal warily, and pulled out several items. The first was Lily's birth certificate. He glanced over it. Lily Marie Potter, daughter of Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter. Born at 3:57 AM, May 2, 2002.

Harry set the certificate on the coffee table, then turned his attention to what looked like an identification tag from St. Mungo's, with Lily's name and information on it. Next, he looked at a photograph of Ginny, holding the newborn girl in her arms. Harry's eyes pricked again, but he blinked hard, holding them back. The last item was legal document, stating simply that in the event of Ginny's death, Harry had full custody of his daughter, but also had the rights to sign away that custody, if he chose. The thought made Harry sick. Even though he'd only met his daughter moments ago, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just gave her away. She was his flesh and blood.

Sighing, Harry opened the second letter:

_Dear Harry,_

_If you're reading this, you're either snooping, or I'm dead. No doubt Mum is there with you, and you know about our daughter, Lily. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I can't give you any real explanation, except that I was afraid... and I wasn't ready to take responsibility for it. It's unfair, but... I was certain that you'd insist on getting married and raising the baby together. In fact, that's probably _exactly_ what you would have done. And that's a good thing, really. It shows how much integrity you have. But I was selfish. I didn't want to be tied down. Now, though, I've had somewhat of a chance to be Lily's mother, and even though I think we could have been smarter about protection, I'm so glad she's been part of my life._

_I honestly don't know why I'm writing this letter now. I'm not anticipating an early death, and I promise I'm not suicidal. I guess being a parent is forcing me to be practical. Scary thought. In any case, I felt like I should write this, and I've put a few must-have items in with the letter. I've made a copy of her birth certificate, just in case, and there's also her hospital ID tag, something legal that I had Percy help me with, and a picture Dad took of the day Lily was born._

_That's everything, I think. I hope you have a wonderful life, Harry. You deserve it, after all you've been through. And I hope someday, you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even if I'm not there to appreciate it._

_ All my love,_

_ Ginny_

_P.S: If you do decide to raise Lily, just do me one favor. You can tell her whatever you like about me, and about us, but please make sure she knows how much I loved her. And you. I _do_ love you, Harry. Always have, always will._

Harry couldn't fight it any longer. The tears came spilling out. All that time spent trying to move on seemed suddenly meaningless. He'd never stopped loving her, had he? And now she was gone.

"Oh, Harry," Molly whispered. He looked up at her, and was momentarily surprised to see her arms empty. Glancing at the basket—which he now noticed wasn't really a basket, but some sort of baby carrier—he saw Lily sleeping soundly inside it. He turned his eyes back to Molly, who held out her arms. With a great sob, Harry fell into them, clinging to the only mother he'd ever known.

He didn't know how long he sat there, crying on Molly's shoulder. It might have been minutes, or maybe even hours. Time seemed of little importance to him at that moment. When he had settled down, Molly whispered something about staying the night, and Harry nodded dumbly. He was dimly aware of her guiding him into his bedroom, assuring him that she would take care of the baby for the remainder of the night. Thanking her profusely, Harry collapsed onto his bed, and soon fell into an exhausted slumber.

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A/N: Thoughts? Review, please!


	2. Missing

A/N: Chapter 2! Enjoy!

* * *

Harry groaned as he slowly drifted into consciousness, the feeling of being awakened from a bad dream washing over him. He couldn't remember any dreams, though. In fact, he couldn't remember much of anything. But as he became more and more coherent, the bitter reality smacked him in the face once again. Ginny was dead, and had left him her daughter. _Their_ daughter. Lily.

Frowning, he listened for any infant-like sounds, but he heard nothing. Harry rubbed the lingering sleepiness from his eyes, then rose to his feet and ambled out into the living room. It was empty, but he spotted the baby carrier still resting beside the sofa. He walked toward it cautiously, and peered into it.

His heart gave a jolt as he gazed at his daughter, who was still fast asleep. In the light of morning, he was able to get a better look at her. She was the spitting image of Ginny, except for the hair. Her hair was dark, not quite black, and surprisingly thick and messy. Just like his. Harry wondered briefly if she would have his eyes or her mother's, but he didn't dare wake her in order to find out.

"I thought I heard you," said a voice. Harry started, but relaxed when he saw Molly coming from the kitchen.

"I didn't hear her cry once," he told her. "Did she?"

"No, she sleeps fairly well at night," Molly said, sitting beside him. "Quite often, she'll sleep soundly until late morning. Not surprising, considering who her father is," she added with a teasing grin.

Harry gave a quiet chuckle, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Molly... how am I going to do this? How am I supposed to be her father? I don't know the first thing about raising a child, much less raising a child _alone_."

"You'll learn," she assured him. "And you won't be alone, Harry. Arthur and I will always be here for you if you need any help."

He smiled nervously. "Thanks, Molly. For everything. I owe you so much."

"Rubbish!" she waved him off. "We may not be related by blood, but for all intents and purposes, you are my son. You owe me nothing."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, a loud wail from the baby carrier commandeered his attention. Lily was awake. Molly lifted her out of the carrier, and Harry watched as she cooed softly to her. The crying lessened, and Molly turned to face him again.

"Would you like to feed her, Harry?" she asked. "I went to the Burrow early this morning and got some of her things, including food."

"Oh, I, er..." he stammered, then replied nervously, "S-sure, I'll feed her."

Molly grinned, then gently set the pink-wrapped bundle in his arms. At first, he felt awkward and panicked, and Lily started to cry again, but Molly quickly showed him how to hold her properly, then disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as her head was nestled in the crook of his arm, her crying ceased. She looked up at him with wide, almond-shaped eyes... eyes which, he hazarded a guess, would soon become emerald green. She had his eyes. His mother's eyes. Her namesake.

Harry felt himself smiling at the tiny baby, a happy bubble of warmth building up in his chest. He barely knew this little girl, and he already loved her more than words could describe. Was this what it felt like, being a parent? Because if it was, he could definitely get used to it. Lily wriggled one small hand free of the blanket's confines, and reached toward him. Barely aware of what he was doing, Harry bent his head closer. Her hand touched his face, and he nearly burst with inexplicable joy. He felt somehow... complete... gazing into the eyes of his baby girl. He hadn't even known part of him was missing, until now.

"Here you are, Harry," Molly returned with a bottle of formula. She handed the bottle to Harry, who coaxed it into Lily's mouth. Immediately, she started gulping down the milky liquid, all the while staring up at him.

"That's it, love," he whispered fondly.

A quiet laugh caught his attention. "I see she's got you wrapped around her finger already. You're going to be _just fine_, Harry."

He grinned, never taking his eyes off the precious girl in his arms. "It's strange... I didn't even know she existed until a few hours ago. But I love her already."

"Welcome to parenthood," she laughed again, then she sighed. "Well, I think I'll go get the rest of her things and bring them here. She'll probably need a change once she's finished eating. You'll find a nappy in the bag next to the stove. I'll be back in no time," she said just before disapparating.

Ah, yes. He'd forgotten about that. Babies needed their nappies changed. Not one of the more pleasant tasks associated with parenthood. _Might as well get used to it_, he told himself sternly. _She's your daughter, your responsibility_.

Ten minutes later, Molly came back with several boxes of various items (which she'd shrunk to fit into her handbag), and Arthur soon followed. Molly took care of Lily for the most part, lending a hand when she could, while Harry and Arthur did the harder jobs themselves. Thankfully, because of magic, they were able to finish quickly. In just a few hours, they had set up Lily's crib in the spare room, put all her clothes in a wardrobe, and found a place to put her toys and blankets. They even put a playpen in the living room near the sofa, then put the baby _in _said playpen.

While Lily played, Arthur took his turn keeping an eye on her, and Molly helped Harry sort out the kitchen. Luckily, his cupboards were pretty bare (he ate out mostly), so it didn't take long. Then she gave him basic instructions on preparing a bottle, changing nappies, and other important tasks. Lastly, she cast a charm on the flat, which enabled him to hear Lily crying from any room, loud enough that it would wake him, but not so loud that he'd lose his hearing.

Once they'd finished, Molly insisted on taking Harry shopping for food, so they left Lily with Arthur, and headed for a nearby market. She helped him pick out the necessary food items, and they returned to the apartment with bags and bags full of groceries. Molly insisted on making Harry a few quick meals, and left him the recipes for them, with a promise that she'd compile a proper cookbook for him soon.

The Weasleys stayed with Harry all afternoon, keeping him company and offering whatever help they could. Just before six o'clock, they decided it was time to leave.

"Don't hesitate to Floo if you need anything," Molly said firmly.

"I promise," he nodded. "And I'll see you on Sunday, for the... funeral."

After exchanging hugs and promises to keep in touch, the Weasleys disapparated, leaving Harry with Lily. She looked up at him from her spot on the floor and made a quiet gurgling noise.

"Looks like it's just you and me, now," he sighed.

* * *

Over the next few days, Harry fell into a sort of rhythm. He got used to waking up earlier with Lily, and getting to bed earlier, as well. Eventually, he didn't have to write notes to remind himself when Lily needed to be fed, and his ability to know what she wanted or needed when she cried improved.

The funeral was a solemn, quiet affair. Only Ginny's family and close friends had been invited, and the service was to be held at a church in Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry arrived a few minutes early, greeting the many Weasleys with sobriety. They were all surprisingly calm, but then, he supposed they'd all done more than enough crying beforehand. _He_ certainly had.

Ron arrived with Luna shortly after, and Molly took Lily as the friends embraced.

"Thanks for coming," Ron said.

Luna gave Harry's hand a comforting squeeze. "She wouldn't want us to grieve. She would want us to move on."

He smiled. "You're right, Luna. Today's not about mourning Ginny. It's about being grateful for the time we had with her, and for the wonderful life she lived."

As more and more people filed in, Harry found himself scanning the small chapel for the one face he _hadn't_ seen. But soon, the doors closed and the service began, and still that face was nowhere to be found. Frowning, Harry wondered where she could be. She'd been friends with Ginny, too, hadn't she? He resisted the urge to lean over and ask Ron; now was not the time. Instead, he focused on the service, and keeping Lily relatively quiet.

Soon, the whole group was walking out to the cemetery, to watch as Ginny's casket was lowered into the ground. Harry clung to Lily as it sank, his throat tight with emotion. Then he, and the rest of the Weasleys, threw ceremonial handfuls of dirt onto the casket. Slowly, people began to leave, and Harry found his opportunity to ask Ron the question that had been burning in his mind.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron's expression grew somber. "Er... she's working in the American Ministry."

"Still?" he asked incredulously. "I thought that internship was only supposed to last a year. She's been there for almost _two_."

"Apparently, she's found something to keep her there," Ron shrugged. "Mum sent her an owl telling her about the funeral, but I guess she didn't get it."

Harry frowned. That didn't make any sense. Owls were normally so reliable. But it wasn't like Hermione to just not come to Ginny's funeral. If she couldn't make it, she would have sent a return owl explaining why she wouldn't be there. Then a thought popped into his head. It didn't make any more sense than any other possibility, but... it was a possibility...

"Does she know about Lily?" he asked warily.

"I don't think so. Ginny kept pretty close-mouthed about it, didn't want it plastered all over the _Prophet_ and such. Far as I know, she only told the family." Ron's brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

Harry shook his head. "Just wondering."

* * *

That night, as Harry put Lily to bed, his thoughts drifted to Hermione. Truth be told, he hadn't heard from her since shortly after she'd gone to France. Her last letter had said that things were hectic at the Ministry there, and she didn't know if she'd have time to write as much. Not wanting to impose, Harry decided he wouldn't write her unless she wrote him first.

But she _didn't_ write. And he had no idea why.

More than once, he'd considered writing her anyway, especially after Ginny left. In his heartbreak, he had wanted someone to lean on, to comfort him, to make him feel as if he weren't completely worthless. He'd even written out a letter asking her to Floo him, telling her he needed his best friend. It was vague enough that she would worry, but not desperate enough to make her panic. And he'd almost sent it, but then, remembering that she was probably too busy, he'd thrown it into the fire and watched the parchment crumble into ash.

This was different, though. This wasn't just a painful rejection. It was the death of a close friend, and the woman he had loved for almost a third of his life. Even if she didn't know about Lily, surely that was enough to bring her home.

Harry glanced at the clock; it was still early, barely half past eight. If he hurried, he could get the letter out before he went to bed, and Hermione would get it sometime in the morning. His decision made, Harry went into his bedroom and sat at his desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle. He paused for a moment, his quill suspended in midair, considering his words carefully. Then, taking a deep breath, he put quill to parchment, and began to write.

* * *

A/N: I'm really bad at funerals. Writing them, going to them... I just don't like it. The more important part of this story is the stuff about Hermione, anyway, so pay more attention to that. Review, please!


	3. Hermione

A/N: Sorry, but this chapter's going to be a little slow. It's one of those filler chapters that are only there because there's so many details to explain that, if you tried to cut down, it would just be confusing. So bear with me; I promise, the rest of the story isn't nearly as dull.

* * *

(Hermione's POV)

_Tap, tap, tap._

Hermione groaned irritably as she rolled onto her side to look at the clock on her nightstand. Only half past six? She still had half an hour before she had to get up. Annoyed, she rolled back to her original position, intent on going back to sleep.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

"Ugh!" she growled, bolting upright and tossing her comforter aside. She stood up, crossed the room, and opened the shade on her window, grumbling to herself the entire time. Her grumbling stopped, however, when she saw what was just outside the window, and she took a step back in surprise.

It was an owl. Of course, this wasn't the surprising part. She'd known it was an owl as soon as she woke up. But she had been expecting a tawny owl, typical of the Ministry of Magic. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd sent an owl requesting that she come into work early for some meeting or other. But it wasn't a Ministry owl. It was a very familiar barn owl, named Aries, which she had given as a gift to its current owner.

_Harry_.

Hermione threw the window open for the owl to swoop in. He perched on one of the bedposts at the foot of her bed. Her pulse hammered loudly in her ears as she took the scroll from Aries' talon, the first contact she'd had with Harry in over a year. Eagerly, anxiously, she unrolled the parchment, and read.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Wow. I haven't written those words in a while. I'm sorry for the lack of letters, but you did say you were busy. I guess I didn't want to disturb you. But now, I feel like I need to write, because a lot of things have happened recently, and I really think you should be aware of them._

_First of all, I don't know if you know this, but Ginny passed away about a week ago. She was out flying in a storm, and had an accident. Molly should have sent you a letter, but maybe you didn't get it. The funeral was this morning. You weren't there. Why weren't you there, Hermione? I hope it _was_ just because you missed the letter, and didn't know about it. I would hate to think that my best friend had changed so much that she wouldn't appear at a funeral for another close friend, who was also my girlfriend for several years. I don't want to believe that of you, because it just doesn't sound like you. But missing something this important isn't like you, either._

_You should have been there, Hermione. We needed you. _I_ needed you. I needed my best friend there to tell me it would be all right, that things happen for a reason. I needed you there. But you weren't._

_There's so much more I need to tell you, but I really think it would be better if I tell you in person. I'm still living in the same flat. Please come, Hermione. I miss you. The American Ministry can survive without you, surely._

_ Come home,_

_ Harry_

Hermione wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her heart seemed to break in two as she read Harry's letter. Part of her was angry with him for thinking so poorly of her. Yet, he had admitted that he didn't want to, and that he was hesitant to believe she would sink so low. There was that, at least. But what hurt most was the fact that he wasn't _entirely _off base. She had received the letter, but, dismissing it as yet another letter from Molly asking her to please come home, she'd filed it away, unread, and soon forgot about it.

"When did you become such a bitter, selfish bitch, Hermione?" she muttered. The tears increased as she collapsed back onto the bed, clutching the letter to her chest, still silently admonishing herself. It was her own fault. She was the one who had left in the first place. She was the one who had stopped writing, all because of her own ridiculous feelings... feeling she'd been trying to ignore. But they were always there, just simmering away on the back burner. And it had taken her ten years to even get them there.

She'd waited so long for Harry to notice her. All through her time at Hogwarts, she occupied the position of know-it-all best friend, while secretly wishing for more. The first few years, it wasn't so terrible; she knew that it would be a while before he noticed _any_ girl, much less his homely, buck-toothed friend. Then there was Cho... then Ginny. And she waited, hoping against hope that eventually, he'd see _her_. But with Ginny... things seemed to just... _stop_. She was his life, his world. And that might have been a good thing, except that Ginny certainly didn't feel the same. She loved Harry, that much was obvious, but not with the same depth and intensity as his love for her. And she was fairly certain that was part of what drove her away.

Truth be told, Hermione had never thought much of Ginny. She was rather irritating, always following them around, until their sixth year (her fifth), when she turned her efforts instead to snogging any boy she could get her hands on. Then, of course, she got her claws into Harry. At first, it seemed like he might be just what she needed to finally settle down. But it was not to be. Their relationship was like a roller coaster, going up and down, up and down, until finally, she left.

It was Ron who had informed her of this development. He mentioned that Harry was suffering, but didn't want to worry her. She very nearly dropped everything to rush to his side right then, but ultimately decided against it, due to her own petty fears.

She'd spent the time away from him trying to overcome her feelings, and she'd made excellent progress. In returning, she feared that those feelings would come rushing back, and she'd find herself wishing and waiting again. Then, with her luck, Ginny would change her mind again, and Harry would welcome her back without a second thought.

Now, however, she could see that she'd made a mistake. Harry had needed her. And he needed her _now_. It gave her a twisted thrill of pleasure to know that. But that pleasure was soon replaced by an overwhelming guilt. He'd needed her... and she did nothing.

Fueled by a sudden onslaught of determination, and an increased self-loathing, Hermione immediately started packing. She shrank all of her belongings and stuffed them into one suitcase for efficiency, except for her clothes, which she put in a separate bag. Before packing them, though, she took a few minutes to pick out a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt. Her hair was hopeless, no matter what she did, so she just didn't bother with it, choosing simply to tie it back in a ponytail.

She checked her watch—almost seven o'clock—and did a mental calculation of the time difference. It was near midnight in England. Not exactly an ideal time to go barging in on someone. She would have to kill time, find something to do for another eight hours or so. Finding some paper and a pen (she'd gotten sick of quills), she started a list of things to complete before her return home, the first of these being a trip to work, so she could request a transfer. If they wouldn't grant her one, then she would resign. She became more and more determined by the minute. It was time for her to go home.

Inhaling deeply, Hermione reached for the floo powder on her mantle, tossing it into the fireplace. She quickly shouted, "American Ministry of Magic!" and stepped into the flickering, green flames.

The Ministry was at its usual state of hustle and bustle, despite it only being seven in the morning. Several employees greeted Hermione as she made her way toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She greeted Cindy, the secretary, and after ascertaining that she would not be interrupting anything important, she opened the door to the department head's office.

Brent Waterford was a middle-aged, but remarkably handsome divorcee, who had made no effort to hide his infatuation with her since the day she arrived, much to her dismay. It wasn't that she didn't like Brent. He was nice enough, and she couldn't deny that he was attractive. It was just that her heart was no longer her own. She'd never quite gotten it back, and therefore couldn't give it to someone else.

As she entered, Brent looked up and smiled brightly. "Well, well, well!" he drawled in his American accent, leaning back in his chair. "This is certainly a change of pace! Hermione Granger, coming to my office completely of her own volition! Have you changed your mind?" he asked with a wink.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No, Brent, I haven't. I'm actually here to ask you for a transfer."

Immediately, the smile slid off his face. "A t-transfer?" She nodded, and he sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Well, I'd be a liar if I said I didn't think this day would come. I just... hoped it wouldn't."

"Brent," she said evenly, "I've never done anything to encourage you."

"I know, I know, just... wishful thinking."

"It's not that I haven't enjoyed working here," she insisted. "I love it, actually. But... there's been somewhat of a... development, which requires my presence back in England," she stammered awkwardly through an explanation, not sure how much to give away. The press could be brutal, and they tended to pop up unexpectedly at the worst possible moments.

Brent frowned. "Is everything all right?"

She smiled sadly. "It will be. I just need to get back home."

He sighed again. "All right. I'll make the arrangements. Just owl the English Minister when you get there. If you need a few days, I'm sure he'll understand."

"Thank you, Brent," she said sincerely.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled. "I ought to have my head examined. Two years of trying to win you over, and now I'm just letting you go?" He scoffed. "Crazy."

Hermione didn't attempt to cheer him, for fear that any effort she made would be taken as encouragement. Instead, she simply thanked him again, and left the office.

Cindy, who was known to eavesdrop on every conversation she could, looked at her with wide, disappointed eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," she replied. "Later today, in fact."

"Why?"

Bristling a little, she snapped, "It's a personal matter."

Cindy bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

_Yes you did_, Hermione thought bitterly, but chose to smile at her. "Don't worry about it, Cindy. It's been lovely working with you, but... I need to go home."

She took a bit of time saying goodbye to several of her now-former coworkers. After all, it made the time go by faster. When she finally flooed back to her apartment, she pulled out her list and crossed off the first item, and started work on the next.

* * *

(Harry's POV)

"Please, Lils," Harry pleaded with the sobbing infant. "_Please_ just eat this." Lily only wailed louder in response. He sighed, finally giving up and setting the bottle on the coffee table. He'd try again in a little while. Cradling Lily against his chest, he gently shushed her, and hummed a nondescript tune in an effort to calm her down.

Soon, she had fallen back to sleep. Harry's eyelids grew heavy as he took Lily back to her room. She'd barely slept the previous night, which meant that _he_ had barely slept. The longer he stayed awake, the more he could feel his body protesting, insisting that he _had_ to sleep. He wasn't convinced that he would get any, though.

Carefully, he set her down in her bed, tensing up as he waited for the inevitable wailing. When it didn't come, and she remained asleep, Harry heaved a sigh. _At last._ He quietly exited the room, and barely made it to the couch before collapsing with sheer exhaustion. His bed was much more comfortable, he knew, but it was just so _far_. And he was already here. Shifting a bit, he pulled one of the throw pillows out from under him, and tucked it beneath his head. Already, he could feel himself being pulled into the wonderful, peaceful oblivion of sleep...

_Knock, knock, knock!_

His eyes shot open, and he looked angrily at the door. Who on earth could be here at this hour? He was half-tempted to ignore it, but when whoever it was knocked again, and he groaned. It was probably Molly, bearing breakfast or baby items or some other motherly gesture that wasn't really necessary. Not that he minded when she brought things like that, but really, did she have to come so early?

But when he opened the door, it wasn't Molly.

Harry stared at the young woman standing just outside, her disheveled appearance instantly recognizable. "_Hermione?_"

She smiled, though her eyes seemed a little wet. "Hello, Harry," she whispered.

It took several moments for him to register that _she was here_. When it finally sank in, he wasted no time in scooping her up into a tight hug. She gave a watery chuckle as he did, returning his embrace just as fiercely. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shoulder. "I should have been there."

"It's okay."

"No, Harry," she shook her head, looking up at him. "It's not okay. I should have come to the funeral. I was so stupid. When I got Molly's letter, I didn't even open it, figuring she was just asking me to come home again. It was selfish of me, and I'm so, so sorry," she finished, her voice breaking at the last word.

Harry frowned. "Hermione... why _didn't_ you come back?"

Her insides froze, but she gave him a smile. "Another time," she promised.

Surprisingly, he accepted this, instead pulling her into another hug. "I'm sorry about that letter, though. I was rather harsh."

"I deserved it."

"I must have made you feel terrible."

"Again, I deserved it."

"But I don't ever want you to be hurt, especially not by something I say or do."

"You're not listening to me," she half-laughed. "If you had been any less harsh, I don't think I would have come. Yes, I'm sorry that Ginny has passed, but to be honest, my friendship with her was a precarious one. I think we only tolerated each other because of you and Ron."

Harry frowned, confused. "I thought you two were close."

She shrugged. "We were, at first. But... we were too different." _Not to mention being in love with the same man tends to put a damper on a friendship_, she thought dryly, but kept this to herself. "She was Gryffindor's golden girl, and I was the bossy little bookworm—and I liked it that way," she added. "I've never wanted to be anything but myself. But she and I..." Hermione let her voice trail off, hoping Harry wouldn't press for more information. She wasn't sure she could lie to him. And her lies were all she had left.

A strange sound came from the next room, and Harry sighed, wiping a hand down his face in obvious exhaustion. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Harry?" she asked, frowning. "Is that...?"

He didn't respond, but disappeared down the hall. A moment later, the sound grew louder, and Harry appeared. Her question was answered at his appearance, for in his arms, he was holding a baby, wrapped up in blankets and screaming.

"Shh, it's okay, Lils," he whispered, then looked up at her. "Hermione, this is Lily... my daughter."

Hermione gasped. "Your _what?_"

* * *

A/N: Cliffhanger! Please review!


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